


pressing flowers

by badwolfandpinstripes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Plants, that's it it's not very exciting lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfandpinstripes/pseuds/badwolfandpinstripes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose presses plants. The Doctor finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pressing flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not used to writing so sorry this is a bit choppy! I just had the idea that Rose pressed plants from different planets.

It was a curious thing, the Doctor decided, that Rose would not take her hands out of her pockets. They had just returned from another planet–no rebellion or anything, just a quiet day where the skies turned purple and gave everything the same violet tint. Rose wanted to watch the sun set, so he spread his jacket out on the ground (not quite grass; it was far too springy and smelt like mint and looked yellow) and they lay there for the hour and a half it took for the sun to disappear. She seemed wholly enamored with the planet–a French colony named New Bordeaux–and he was wholly enamored with the way purple changed the color of her skin, the reflections in her eyes, the way the purple light danced in her hair. She turned to him, a smile alive in her eyes, and murmured, “I hope I never forget this.” He smiled without meaning to. “Me too,” he replied, and watched her face soften before she turned back towards the horizon.   
“Rose,” he called after setting the TARDIS back in some harmless corner of the universe. “What’s in your pockets?” She walked over to him and pulled out sprigs of the yellow mint-grass and different wildflowers they passed on their walk.   
“’S a bit silly, I know,” she berated automatically, “but I’ve been collecting different plants for a while now, from all the different planets.” He watched her curiously.   
“Really?”   
“Yeah,” she licked her lips. “I don’t wanna forget nothing.”   
“Pictures might be more reliable, you know.” “Well, yeah. ’S not the same, though. Not really.” He plucked the mint-grass out of her hands. “Show me?” he asked.   
“Show you what?”   
“Your collection,” he replied playfully. She laughed.   
“I wouldn’t call it that. Don’t even know the names of anything. Hardly remember where they’re from.”  
“I can help!” He exclaimed, affronted.   
“Really,” she remarked dryly. He sniffed.  
“I’m only a 905 year old Time Lord. I might know a little better than your average human.”  
“I dunno,” she sighed dramatically. “Not sure if I can trust your judgement.”  
“'Trust my judgement!' When have I ever led you wrong?” He caught the teasing glint in her eye.  
“There’s that time we went to Cardiff…”  
“Hardly counts.”  
“Twelve months away from my mum…”  
“Alright, but–“  
“Or when you meant to take me to the 1970s–“  
“Rose–“  
“Or that time–“  
“Okay! You got me. I’m fallible.” She laughed.  
“Come on, then. Gotta press these anyways.” He followed her to her room and watched as she dug out a small, leather book from under her bed. The bed dipped under her weight as she sat and she ran her fingers along the thick paper. She looked up at him, and he felt nervous all at once.  
“Aren’t you gonna sit down?” He realized he was still standing in her doorway.  
“If I can make it over there,” he retorted easily.  
“Oi! Room’s not that messy.” He purposely tripped over a pair of her trainers.  
“More obstacles here than on Ragatosk!”  
“Just come on.” He sat next to her and felt immediately hyperaware of the feeling of her light pink comforter, of the way she drew her legs up so that the book fell comfortably on her lap, of their sudden closeness. Her hair fell in front of her face and she swept it behind her in one smooth motion. Her mascara was beginning to wipe off her lashes and landed, smudged, on her skin. She had bags under her eyes, he noted guiltily. He wakes her up too early each day, he knew. He selfishly craves her company at all hours, in all modes–tired, awake, sad, alive–he always wanted her around. He realized she had been talking. He cleared his throat.   
“Sorry, didn’t catch that.” She laughed.  
“God, I know. You’re useless sometimes.”  
“Only sometimes?”  
“Well. Most of the time,” she amended. He scoffed, mock-hurt. “I was saying I’ve been keeping this since the last you,” she continued, opening to the first page. “At the estate, I was always trying to keep the weeds that grew in the sidewalk, but they weren’t near as nice. Mickey always made fun of me for it, keeping dead things.”   
“He shouldn’t have,” he murmured instantly. She met his gaze.   
“I dunno. Here was me being sentimental over dandelions but I couldn’t ever even remember his birthday. Seemed fair. Anyway,” She said quickly, noticing how the Doctor opened his mouth to say something, “this is the first time I picked something.” He ran his finger over the dried blade of grass.   
“You didn’t get anything from the end of the world or Cardiff?”   
“Nah. Not much to find on a spaceship. And I didn’t have pockets the second time.”  
“Mind if I–“ he reached for the book.  
“No, go ahead.” She moved the book from her lap to his hands.  
“Thanks.” He flipped through the thick white pages. The TARDIS must’ve left her with this book. He wasn’t interested in the plants, though he noticed his mouth was on autopilot, giving her scientific and common names of what she had and listing the planet it was from. He paid more attention to her handwriting. Sometimes she wrote the planet, sometimes she didn’t. Only the date they went somewhere, and a small description of what she could remember.  
“That’s when we went to New Earth,” she cut in his mindless explanations. He ran his hand over the black ink. “Apple grass that smells like apples on new new new new new new new new new new new new new new Earth (I think that’s right)” He chuckled.  
“You missed a ‘new,’” he pointed out.   
“Can’t remember everything. I was a bit busy being possessed that day,” she joked, instantly regretting it when his face fell.  
“I’m sorry about that, Rose, really,” he whispered.  
“It was a long time ago, Doctor. ’S not your fault.”  
“I should’ve noticed. I shouldn’t’ve let you go alone.”  
“Let me?”  
“Danger magnet, you are. Even riding an elevator’s dangerous.”  
“Shut up. ’S not like I can’t handle myself.”  
“You’re right. You’re the bravest person I know.” He looked at her softly. She glanced down after a few seconds, embarrassed at how that comment affected her.  
“Well. Thanks.”  
“After me, of course.” Of course.   
He went through the rest of the pages silently. She pretended to be just as focused on the pages, and not on his hands, calloused like the old ones but so much longer and thinner, not on the way he stroked each place she had written, and definitely not on the way his mouth curved up occasionally when she crossed out variations of the same word five times or made a sarcastic comment. She definitely was not aware of how nice he smelled–still like the mint grass that landed in his hair when he lay down, a bit like aftershave, a bit like a used bookstore and something completely indescribable. He took one of his hands off the book and landed it centimeters from hers, his fingers absently stroking the duvet and sometimes brushing against her fingers, sending shivers through her, making her heart beat faster and forcing her thoughts into overdrive.   
“Why didn’t you tell me you kept this?” He asked finally. She shrugged. He closed the book, pressing the pages so that the binding crinkled. She took it from him and placed it on her nightstand.  
“Rose.” She turned back. His eyes were unguarded. He looked a little lost. He made no move to speak.  
“What, Doctor?” They stayed like this, searching each other’s eyes. He hoped she understood him, and leaned towards her.  
“Rose, I…” She licked her lips. He ducked his head down. “I was wondering what you’d fancy doing next.”  
“Oh.”  
“There’s a great garden full of plants even I don’t know, quite an accomplishment, really, on the other side of–“  
“Doctor,” she smiled. His mouth close with a click. “I think I just want a cuppa right now. Good end to our lazy day.”  
“Right you are,” he said softly. “Tomorrow then.” He got up from her bed and made to leave.  
“You gonna join me or brood under the console?”  
“I don’t brood.”  
“You sulk.”  
“Humph. See if I take you anywhere.”  
“You’d be lost without me.”  
“Yes,” he said, his voice raw. They watched each other. He noted the way her hands gripped the comforter, how she seemed to go still. She searched his face, watching his hands move from his crossed arms into his pockets. He cleared his throat.  
“Come on then,” he tilted his head away. “Let’s get that cuppa.”  
“Yeah,” she sighed, feeling like they had missed something. “Yeah,” she said again, pushing herself off the bed. They were always missing something.   
They sat in the galley, nursing their tea in silence, but a more comfortable one than in her room. They sat across from each other, and the distance of the table between them let them breathe a little easier. She caught his stare over his tea. She grinned at him, and he reflected her. For now, that was enough.


End file.
